) See, they are beginning to form
again. It looks for all the world like a funeral train.
_5th Sol_. What was the Stamp Act to us, or all the acts beyond the sea
that ever were acted, so long as they left us our golden fields, our
Sabbath days, the quiet of the summer evening door, and the merry winter
hearth. _The Stamp Act?_ It would have been cheaper for us to have
written our bills on gold-leaf, and for tea, to have drunk melted
jewels, like the queen I read of once; cheaper and better, a thousand
times, than the bloody cost we are paying now.
_4th Sol_. It was not the money, Will,--it was not the money, you know.
The wrong it was. We could not be trampled on in that way,--it was not
in us--we could not.
_5th Sol_. Ay, ay. A fine thing to get mad about was that when we sat in
the door of a moonlight evening and the day's toils were done. It was
easy talking then. _Trampled on!_ I will tell you when I was nearest
being trampled on, Andros,--when I lay on the ground below there last
winter,--on the frozen ground, with the blood running out of my side
like a river, and a great high-heeled German walking over my shoulder as
if I had been a hickory log.
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